Foreseeable Options
by WeatherWatch
Summary: In the matter of Life or Death, morals be damned. 1/3


**Disclaimer : Ce n'est pas à moi. ****It's JKR and WBros. I just play some fill-in-the-gaps with this one.**

_Department of Mysteries, 1996_

Fierce brown eyes met calculating blue with a fury and fear that was only brought forth by an animal that felt truly caged. The girl, a sixteen year old with bushy brown curls, looked desperately for an escape as the lithely built man with the short, cropped hair stalked towards her. His hood had been torn off, but his mask, the eerie façade of a Death Eater, still covered the top half of his face.

"You're despicable." She hissed, hoping to distract him, but with her wand was lying out of reach and her back literally against the wall, he was an impenetrable force of unstoppable danger.

The man's mouth quirked upwards in a smile as he slowly closed the distance between them; he was in no hurry. The fighting had moved to other parts of the cavernous department, into different rooms - only the loudest sounds were still reaching them in this hidden, dark corner of the Ministry.

Unexpectedly, the imposing figure stopped his advance, standing just out of range of her hands. He twirled his wand thoughtfully, before making a sudden gesture with it that caused her wrists to be pulled together as if an invisible rope had been tied around them. A second movement sent them above her head, leaving her feeling exposed and a hundred times more vulnerable than when she had lost her wand.

"Much better." The man murmured, before taking another step towards the girl.

"Hermione Granger." He whispered her name almost reverently, the blue eyes gazed at her unwaveringly, and she tried uselessly to free herself as the cold orbs absorbed her appearance. The curls were slightly damp from exertion, as was her lightly tanned skin, her cheeks were pink and her breast heaved from a combination of fear, adrenaline and anger.

"You are a remarkable witch." He stressed the adjective, and moved even closer. "A muggleborn, but more powerful than most pure-bloods. Isn't it absurd?"

"Only to arrogant bastards like you." Hermione spat, trying to kick at him. He dodged her flailing foot nimbly, and caught it at the ankle.

"Clearly, you are mistaken as to who I am." Her capturer responded quietly. "How unfortunate."

"Clearly, you've mistaken me for someone who cares."

"Feisty." The man commented, and proceeded to slip her shoe off the foot he still had a hold on.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, struggling against her invisible bonds once again. The grip on her ankle tightened and his thumb rubbed against the fabric of her sock in smooth circles.

"Experimenting."

Deciding that escape was futile, Hermione attempted to distract him. "I thought you were going to tell me who you are?"

"I wasn't going to, actually. You've purposely misinterpreted my words because you're curious and looking for a delay. I won't comply with your second wish, but I can satiate that curiosity." He answered with a disarming smile. "I am Antonin Dolohov, at your service."

The hand on her ankle slid up to rest at the back of her knee, encouraging her leg to bend as he broke through the last remnants of her personal space. Standing close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, Dolohov smiled.

"Tell me, Hermione," he breathed, her name sounding so sinful from his lips that she shivered less from fear and more from excitement as her brain was slowly beaten back by her sensory reactions. The tiniest amount of self-loathing rose up at her body's betrayal. "Have you ever been pleasured by a man?"

The Death Eater's wand vanished into the folds of his robes, and his newly freed hand went to her waist.

"Screw you."

Hermione's brain had kicked in again, and although it was strained and somewhat breathless, she managed to get her point across. Infuriatingly, the man just ignored her.

"No? How about ravaged?" He asked, leaning close to brush his lips against her ear as he whispered the words. Hermione's breathing was laboured, as anger and exhilaration battled for dominance. It didn't seem like he intended for her to be hurt (though she couldn't rule it out, obviously) so fear had taken a backseat and she was left with two volatile emotions in a dark, secluded area with a man who was, by all definitions, her enemy, whispering wicked things to her.

It was like one of those trashy romance novels her aunt had gifted her with on her thirteenth birthday, but Hermione would've been lying if she'd said Dolohov's whispers and proximity weren't garnering a reaction. His voice was low and his jaw (the only part of his face that she could actually see) was handsomely shaped, with an occasionally devastating smile.

And she was trapped, with only two foreseeable options: fight and resist and be killed or injured faster, or cater to the Death Eater's whims in the hopes that it might give her a little longer in this life. Besides, the parts of him that she could see (jaw, smile, and bright blue eyes) were sincerely attractive and if she was going to die, she was sure as hell not going to die a virgin when an admittedly evil, but gorgeous man was willing to do something about it. Morals be damned.

"Never." She finally responded, breathless, to his earlier question, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. His eyes followed its movement, and the hand holding her leg slid further up her thigh in a motion he was almost unaware of, but Hermione shifted and his fingers clenched, his thumb returning to trace circles on her flesh.

"That is something to rectify, then, Miss Granger." He said with a brazen smirk as the hand on her waist relocated to the nape of her neck. Grasping her curls, the remaining separation between them was closed as his lips were pressed firmly against hers.

Without a fight she opened her mouth to his ministrations, hooking her leg around his body as he pressed her against the wall. Lifting her other leg, the remaining shoe fell off as she brought it around his waist. His lips moved to her neck, each touch against her pulsing veins was like a burst of heat, and she wished that her hands weren't restricted.

A loud bang reverberated around the room and Dolohov forcibly pushed her off him as he turned violently to face the source of the noise. Bright flashes of light, a mixture of hexes and curses, began to fill the previously black room.

Remus, Harry and Neville were trying to hold off Bellatrix Lestrange and Avery, but Dolohov made it an even number, though nobody but Hermione knew he was there. Latching onto her only hope for escape, Hermione yelled, "Professor, look out!"

Dolohov threw her a dirty look laced with disappointment, but had to move quickly to dodge the hex Remus directed at him. With an escape route now, Hermione darted forward to where her wand was lying almost forgotten and awkwardly managed to pick it up with her still connected wrists. Pointing it at herself, she murmured, "Finite Incantatum" and watched as her hands split apart, allowing her more movement.

A red flash narrowly missed her shoulder and she looked up to see Dolohov standing over Neville's prone figure unconscious on the floor, blood gushing from his nose.

"Stupefy!" Hermione shot the spell at her unsuspecting almost-lover, but it missed by millimetres and he spun to face her, looking more vastly more dangerous than before, reigniting the fear that had been dampened earlier.

"Cru-"

"Silencio." She said the first spell that came into her head, choosing the silencing spell no doubt as a subconscious effort on her part to avoid hearing the end of his curse.

He was stopped, he knew it, and his expression was murderous for a split second before he neutralised it and began to speak, though no sound came out.

She couldn't tell what he was saying, or trying to say through her spell, but the look on his face was a combination of betrayal, lust and anger. For a brief moment it also looked like sadness, but then he lifted his hand, causing a bright white light to shoot towards her and vanish into her stomach with a slicing sensation and the sight of blood, knocking her to the floor.

Three hazy seconds later, Hermione was unconscious, and though she didn't know it, she was bleeding internally.

OoO

Brown eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus on one of the many heads around the bed. It was the Hospital Wing, she gathered, taking in the pristine white walls and soft bed sheets.

"She's waking up."

"Harry, she's alright!"

"What's happening?

"Hermione?" Said Arthur Weasley, his quiet voice drawing her attention, and her wavering eyes finally settled on his kind face, lids only half open. "Hermione, my girl, can you hear me?"

"Mmm." Hermione managed to groan, trying to move around, but Arthur gently pushed her shoulder back down.

"Relax, Hermione. Don't try to move just yet – I'll call Madam Pomfrey."

Then she remembered why she was there, and suddenly her cheeks were wet with tears and when the Hogwarts medi-witch arrived she immediately bundled the Weasleys and Harry out of the Wing trying to determine was hurting her patient. After a few moments of sobs, the older lady finally managed to pull out the name of the Death Eater who cursed her student: Antonin Dolohov. (That in itself was problematic, because he was one of the most advanced spell casters among the dark wizards, and was known to have developed several spells of his own.)

From what they could tell, the curse had been directed at her ovaries and womb, but, as luck would have it, the strength had been diminished by the silencing charm and had only affected one ovary (which had been healed by Madam Pomfrey), though the external laceration could not be fixed entirely, leaving her with a silvery scar on her stomach as the only visible reminder of her interactions with Dolohov.

When she was finally released, she was her usual happy self around Harry, Ron and the Weasleys, getting into her school work and falling back into routine, but when she was alone in the Prefects bathroom, or in the dormitory – anywhere that a mirror could be found – she drifted into a melancholy state of subjunctive wonderings.

What if Remus and the others hadn't arrived when they had? She would have willingly let Antonin Dolohov – one of the worst Death Eaters – take her against the wall. Granted, she thought that she was going to die not long afterwards, but she had made a decision that went against everything that she – and Harry – stood for. She felt mildly disgusted with herself, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. He was evil, yes, but he was all man. He was strong and powerful and he had all but seduced her on the spot.

She wondered in her isolation, and then when she returned to reality she let it rest in the depths of her mind, telling it to no-one. Privately, she wondered whether Dolohov knew how far he had wormed his way into her mind.

**End.**

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